Quake by Andy Remic Read Free Book Online Page A

trophy.
    Natasha, behind him, gave him a little push.
    ‘Come on, Carter, we’re late.’
    Carter grumbled and muttered something: something about it being too smoky, too crowded and too loud. And how he had recently been attacked and so should really be at home in bed with a hot whisky and lemon, three sugars.
    ‘How old are you, you moaning old goat? Jesus, Carter, it’s not like we go to many parties! Make a bloody effort or I’ll break your spine.’
    ‘Someone already tried that,’ he grumbled, feeling the medical staples that Natasha had applied pull tight in the flesh of his back.
    Carter watched Natasha’s low-cut black dress disappear into the throng, and he followed, more sedately - like a dog on a leash, growling.
    Carter blinked, then stared hard at the flamboyant and very well-presented breasts which had just bumped rudely into his chest. ‘Excuse me,’ came a voice slurred by High German and beer.
    Carter’s eyes flickered up from the impressive cleavage to a beautiful young face regarding him with positive appraisal. He shook his head, took a deep smoke-filled breath, and fought his way to the bar where he ordered a litre of Schwarz-Bier and sunk his face into its cold welcoming depths. The liquid nectar soothed his throat, soothed his brain and soothed his temper. Parties were not exactly Carter’s scene; it wasn’t the party perse, more the horde of bustling party people all with their own little agendas. Carter wasn’t exactly the human race’s greatest fan, and he had the word cynicism branded - hardwired -into his brain.
    ‘There you are!’
    Natasha twirled into view, giggling, a man on each arm.
    Carter, with a Schwarz-Bier moustache, frowned at her. His field-staples were hurting - he could feel the tiny pins piercing his skin and muscle - and the bruises on his throat were a testament to his recent attacker’s formidable strength.
    ‘Dancing! You coming dancing? This is Hans ... and, and, and—’
    ‘Mm!’ grunted Carter, which translated through intonation to something considerably more rude.
    Natasha took the hint, and disappeared, bump first.
    Carter ordered another beer. He changed his mind, and ordered two. Then he thought: fuck it, and ordered a third, with a triple-whisky chaser. It’s going to be a long night, he thought as the lights dimmed and more lasers kicked spirals of colour across the walls and beams - and the music’s volume increased painfully.
    ‘ You happy?’ came the taunting voice of Kade. Carter ignored him, ignored the tone of arrogance and deceit. ‘Come on, Carter, talk to me! This is a fine place, full of fine woman flesh — look there! You see her hips? Fine child-bearing hips ...’
    ‘Leave me alone,’ said Carter softly.
    ‘ But... Carter, I can’t leave you alone, dickhead. We are brothers. And I feel I should warn you that things here are not as they seem. ‘
    ‘In what way?’
    ‘Ahh, that would be telling. ‘
    ‘Kade, you fuckwit, what’s on your mind?’
    Carter dismissed Kade with a mental surge of anger and, calming himself, leant back against the bar - good solid wood protecting his back - and watched the people around him, a tankard in his fist and a gun in his belt. Fuck Kade, he thought sourly. He was just a bad demon who’d got out of bed on the wrong side and fancied a little bit of shit-stirring as his starter.
    Men and women gyrated in parodies of dance, as some Swiss musician massacred a song about the mountains and added GBH boot first to the tune with a happy accordion melody. Carter watched the people and the people ignored him - it was as if he wasn’t there, an invisible player beyond the boundaries of these strangest of rules, this most esoteric of games. It always amused Carter: stay sober (or sober in comparison to those around you) and you could neatly sidestep the alcohol bubble; withdraw from the party sphere and allow yourself time to watch and study and fundamentally learn the mechanics of humankind.
    The